


bring it on home

by heartofwinterfell



Series: the big chill [2]
Category: Mighty Ducks (Movies)
Genre: Comedy of Errors, Getting Together, M/M, and a shocking lack of hockey, featuring special guest appearances by all the other ducks, the universe conspiring against charlie conway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofwinterfell/pseuds/heartofwinterfell
Summary: There are a lot of things you can do when you realize you're in love with your best friend and Charlie Conway picks (almost) all the wrong options.[or, idiots, a love story by connie moreau and julie gaffney]
Relationships: Adam Banks/Charlie Conway
Series: the big chill [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692514
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	bring it on home

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in between events IV and V in the previous work in this series, occupational hazards, but no prior reading is required to understand this fic!

He takes the turn at the last possible second, feeling the razor thin margin between his shoulder and the boards. A shower of ice erupts, but Charlie surges on and takes the next turn in the exact same way. He’s lost track of what lap he’s on and the time. His legs feel like gelatin, and his heart beats somewhere in his throat, and sweat slides from his face down to his neck, clinging his jersey to his body like a second skin.

And he might be in love with his best friend.

Every time Charlie’s close to entering that zen-like state, where his mind becomes a void where no thoughts can enter, a little voice in the back of his head reminds him why he’s on the ice before sunrise to begin with. _Don’t forget_ , it whispers, _you’re probably in love with your best friend_.

Coach Orion always says Charlie thinks too much on the ice. It’s near kryptonite, his inability to block everything else out and focus solely on the game. Charlie could stand to be more like Adam, who’s single-minded to the point of almost uncharacteristic brutality when they play. Somehow, it’s fitting how they’re two sides of the same coin. Charlie thinks too much on the ice and not enough off it, Adam’s completely out of his head on the ice and completely in his head everywhere else.

That’s why they make a good team. And there his thoughts go again, as he starts another lap, running straight back to Adam.

“Hey, Charlie!”

How did the cliche go? Speak the devil’s name and he doth appear. Or in Charlie’s case, think too long and too hard about the devil and he comes walking down the stands, fresh-faced and smiling.

Charlie stops mid-lap, chest heaving, and skates over to the home bench, trying not to stare too hard at Adam as he makes his way over. He looks nice though, in a green polo shirt and jeans Charlie heckled him into buying to give him options outside a myriad of khaki. No one would have guessed he’s recovering from a freshly received concussion, but Adam’s never liked nursing his wounds where other people can see him, even Charlie.

It’s always driven Charlie up the wall and add that to the growing list of reasons Charlie’s almost certainly in love with his best friend.

“I came to find you before the team sent a search party,” Adam says when he finally reaches the bench. He offhandedly tosses Charlie the water bottle sitting by the rest of his stuff and Charlie’s heart, already beating at an uncomfortable rate, just about explodes. When Charlie doesn’t say anything, not quite sure what he’s missing here, Adam tilts his head. “Did Captain Duck forget the team breakfast?”

“Shit! What time is it?” Charlie clamors into the box, wildly pawing through his stuff in search of his watch. He had not forgotten. He’d never forget a Ducks tradition. Time and love crises were just not on his side this morning. If anything, this was half Adam’s fault, so Charlie’d appreciate if he stopped laughing in in the background.

“You’re fine, Charlie,” Adam says and Charlie feels a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “We still have half an hour to get to Goldberg’s. Plenty of time to hit the showers.”

Charlie looks up long enough to see Adam wrinkling his nose down at him. On a normal morning, after a normal set of drills, Charlie would have shoved Adam in the shoulders for a dig like that. Now, Charlie feels his face flush and when he straightens up, he’s hyper aware of how close he and Adam are. A hockey stick standing upright could hardly fit between them.

And all Charlie can imagine is leaning forward and rubbing his sweaty forehead against Adam’s just to see Adam blush and half-heartedly try to push him away. It’s nothing Charlie hasn’t done before, usually after a game where Adam was stuck on the bench sporting one of his many injuries, but now Charlie’s thinking of how easy it’d be to kiss him immediately after.

“Okay,” Adam says, ripping Charlie out of his fantasy, “At the rate you’re going, we’re going to miss the breakfast entirely. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Charlie says far too quickly, rushing to shove all his stuff under one arm. “Don’t worry, Banksy. I’ll get us there with time to spare.”

Charlie spends his entire shower trying to run hockey stats in his head, but it’s all for nothing when he walks back into the locker room and Adam’s waiting there, humming a Nirvana song to himself, one from the record Charlie gave him for his last birthday. Charlie can hardly swallow. He struggles through getting dressed, his mind flooded with illicit images of what they could be doing with a locker room all to themselves.

His shirt’s still only half-on when Adam’s eyes flicker over to him and then immediately up to the ceiling. He clears his throat and asks, “Ready?”

Charlie could be ready for a lot of things and that’s how he knows he is unequivocally in love with his best friend and he is unequivocally screwed.

...

Charlie and Banks are fifteen minutes late to Goldberg’s and, if Connie didn’t know they’re both absolute morons, she’d wonder if anything involving roaming hands got them caught up. They still seem happy enough to take the last two stools at the end of the counter, a little haven away from the roaring center of the Ducks where Goldberg’s recounting the game half of them played in the night before, with interjected commentary from Averman and Russ.

At least it gives Connie cover to lean over and whisper to Julie, “This is getting painful.”

Julie glances over at Charlie and Banks, Charlie listening to something Banks is saying quietly into his ear while stealing half of the hash browns from his plate. “Yuck, I’d knock you with my stick if you and Guy were ever that gross.”

“Why am I gross?” Guy, distracted from the Goldberg highlights, looks at Julie with an offended frown.

“Your entire arm is in a plate of ketchup,” Julie says flatly. When Guy sees she was right, he swears loudly and proceeds to rub his drenched sleeve onto his shirt, pants, and any other cloth he could get his hands on, giving Julie the opportunity to whisper to Connie, “We’re going to be lucky if they figure it out the summer after college.”

Connie glances back at Banks and Charlie. Charlie must have said something stupid that Adam’s desperate not to laugh at, because Adam is looking down at his pillaged plate, pressing his lips together in a terribly unconcealed smile. Charlie’s eyes never leave Adam and, though it may be a trick of morning sun streaming through the wall to wall windows, Connie swears Charlie looks knowingly and completely smitten.

“Huh,” Connie says, more to herself than anyone else. “Maybe they’ll surprise us.”

///

“Portman.” The guy in question glances up, mashed potatoes smeared on the corners of his mouth, and Charlie steels himself for whatever will come from this. “If you liked a...a girl, but you’re worried she’ll reject you if you ever try to ask her out, what would you do?”

“Who would reject you, Conway? You’re a good looking guy,” Portman says, waving his spoon in the general direction of Charlie’s face. A glob of potatoes lands on the sleeve of Charlie’s jersey.

“It’s -” Charlie dares to cast a glance further down the table, where Adam is pretending to listen to a long winded tale of Goldberg’s that’s surely been told a thousand times before. “...complicated.”

“Is there any chance this girl likes you back?”

Charlie thinks back to a few nights ago, Adam half-asleep and brain woozy telling him that he hates watching Charlie get hurt. It’s not a billboard in the sky pronouncing his love, but Charlie has to wonder if Adam would admit the same to any other Duck.

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s…”

“Complicated,” Portman finishes for him. He sends his fork clattering into his plate. “Bullshit, complicated. Nothing’s ever actually that complicated. Just start acting like you’re already dating and two weeks from now, bam, it’s on.”

“What?” Charlie’s lucky he doesn’t have lunch in hand. He’d be spluttering it out. “I can’t just go up and kiss hi-...her.”

“No, don’t kiss her,” Portman says, shaking his head as if Charlie is the one in la la land. “Take her to a nice dinner, just the two of you, and just forget to mention it’s a date. Get her a gift, like flowers or some shit girls like. Carry her books to class for her, hold her hand during the scary part of the movie, all that stuff. Then give it a few weeks, she’ll be the one asking you out.”

“And this has worked for you before?” Charlie asks, careful not to sound too skeptical. Portman had a long life in Chicago before they knew him. It’s possible he has an extensive list of ex-lovers none of them have heard of before. There’s just the problem that Charlie has never seen Portman with a girlfriend since they’ve started playing together. Really, the only Duck with any romantic experience is Guy, but talking to Guy means also talking to Connie and Charlie has an itching feeling that Connie and Julie both know a lot more than they let on about all of their love lives.

That means Charlie chooses to put his future happiness in Portman’s hands and takes it to heart when he says, “You can’t go wrong, Conway.”

…

“What’s happening down there?” Connie asks, craning her neck to get a better look at Portman, waving his hands wildly, and Charlie, taking it all in with rapt interest.

Julie, just sitting down with a tray of food piled high in front of her, rolls her eyes. “Idiot one has just asked Portman for relationship advice.”

Connie groans. “I thought you told him to come to us when he’s ready to talk about it.”

Julie reaches out and pats Connie’s hand. “When have any of these boys ever listened to a single thing we say?”

It seems Connie’s short-lived faith in Charlie Conway was entirely misplaced. “They’re doomed.”

///

Needless to say, Charlie is not properly dressed for dinner.

There are many people he’d like to blame. First and foremost, his mother for never once taking him to a restaurant outside of the cheap eats in District V. This not-date date would be dead in the water if Charlie dragged Adam to one of the single table pizza joints they’ve been to together a hundred times before. He’d also like to blame Mr. and Mrs. Banks for ruining just about every upscale restaurant their tiny district had to offer. He’s spent too many long and boring evenings with the Banks family, stuffed in an itchy suit at a restaurant where Mr. Banks ordered for them. Charlie would rather not bring those memories to the surface, even if they sometimes included Mr. Banks choking on his soup.

The lion’s share of the blame went to Bishop on varsity, though. He overheard Bishop complaining about how his girlfriend demanded he take her on a fancy date, so he booked a table at a place he claimed made cheap look good. That certainly fit the bill for Charlie.

It turns out Bishop’s idea of cheap and Charlie’s idea of cheap are vastly, insurmountably different.

Adam fits in perfectly, his button-down tucked into his perfectly pressed pants. Charlie thought his nicest Henley looked acceptable when he left their dorm room, but by the distasteful once over the host gave him, he might as well have entered the restaurant in a garbage bag.

“Your mom recommended this place?” Adam asks after they’ve been seated. There’s a single candle in the middle of their table and it casts a warm glow over Adam’s face, highlighting the sweetly puzzle expression on his face as he looks around the small dining room. Maybe this night isn’t shaping up to be a total bust.

“Ya know, I may have misheard her on the phone.”

“And all of the other Ducks were busy?” Adam turns back to Charlie, still looking lost.

“Yup,” Charlie says, popping the ‘p’ and cringing inwardly at that decision. It’s only half a lie, really. Charlie proposed a team dinner, a small celebration before their next playoff game, and just forgot to invite all the other Ducks until this afternoon. By then, they all had Friday night plans.

Well, most of them did. A handful of others may have also misheard the name of the restaurant. That, or they correctly heard the wrong name Charlie gave them.

At least they’ll be paying three dollars for a slice of pizza. Charlie opens the small menu that had been placed in front of him to find a long list of gibberish words next to large numbers that made his head dizzy.

“You don’t happen to speak French, do you Banksy?”

“We’re in the same Spanish class, Charlie.” Still, Adam studies the menu with careful consideration that makes Charlie feel totally out of his depth. He’s not aware he’s been caught up staring at the studious frown on Adam’s face until someone clears his throat beside their table.

The waiter, standing hands clasped behind his back, looks down at Charlie like he was a dog chasing its own tail. Hastily glancing down at his menu, Charlie points at the first thing that looks cheap. “Uh - this. I’ll take this.”

“Very good, sir.”

After the waiter’s whisked the menus away, Adam looks at Charlie, an eyebrow raised. “Do you have any idea what you just ordered?”

“Some kind of soup?”

Adam shakes his head, smiling. “We can’t take you anywhere.”

It’s easy after that, falling into familiar patterns with Adam. They relive old finals, theorize about what Coach Bombay is up to, laugh about the new five-year plan Mr. Banks has worked up for Adam, and Charlie tries not to think about how that plan will not include him. At least not in the way Charlie wants it to now. They’re leaning so far forward on the table that the small candle flame looks like a wavering birthmark on Adam’s cheek and they both have to pull back to make room for their entrees.

Charlie does the best acting of his life by not flinching at his plate. It’s some kind of pasta slathered in a lumpy sauce that looks like it came from the bottom of Goldberg’s locker. “Mourn me when I die, Banksy.”

“Expand your horizons, Spazway,” Adam says as he cuts into his chicken.

The first bite admittedly is not that bad. It’s in the middle of the second bite that Charlie starts to taste the metal. The hand not holding his fork shoots out and grips Adam’s wrist, hard.

“Charlie?” Adam drops his own fork, eyes widening into saucers. “Charlie, what’s wrong?”

The dining room has started to develop spots, huge and inky stains blooming across his vision. Charlie thinks he hears someone calling for an ambulance. Then, nothing.

…

Every Duck has fully camped outside of Banks and Charlie’s dorm room by the time their fearless leader returns. He looks haggard, brown curls sticking up and eyes droopy, but he also looks alive and that’s all they can ask for.

“What happened?” Averman asks once the chorus of “Charlie!” and “Good to see you’re still with us!” die down.

“Nothing -”

“He didn’t tell the server he had a nut allergy,” Adam says, clearly cutting Charlie off before he can downplay it. Connie thought only Orion had mastered that perfect mix of relief and exasperation, but it looks like Adam is taking after their coach more than they thought.

“None of this would’ve happened if you ended up at Johnson’s with us,” Goldberg says.

“Yeah,” Dwayne pipes in. “What happened to you guys, anyway?”

“Johnson’s Pizza?” Adam asks, puzzled, at the same time Charlie says, “No, I said Johannes, idiots.”

“Johannes? Isn’t that place for -” Guy’s question is cut off with a shout of pain as Connie’s foot comes slamming down on his. “What the hell, Con?”

“I think we should let Charlie rest,” comes Julie’s soothing voice over the crowd. After a murmur of agreement, the team disperse, though not without all of them clapping Charlie on the shoulder and congratulating him on not dying.

On the way back to their room, free of any male Ducks, Julie asks, “So, who’s the dumber one: Conway or Banks?”

Connie snorts. “Right now, it’s too close to call.”

///

It turns out when you go into anaphylactic shock in the middle of a restaurant, sometimes that restaurant is sympathetic enough not to make you pay for the meal that almost killed you.

That means Charlie has fifty dollars to spare on phase two of the Portman Method.

“Charlie.” Adam just got back from a study session with Julie and Russ and is peering down at his bed as if Averman and Goldberg set it to blow. “Who put these here?”

Adam carefully holds up the jumbo bag of peanut butter M&Ms and a large sleeve of Reese’s Cups to show Charlie.

“I did.” Charlie’s face grows a little hot.

“Because you have some kind of death wish I don’t know about?”

“What? No!” Charlie ducks his head, eyes intent on the math homework spread out in front of him. All the numbers appear like an indecipherable code. “I just - I know you like candy with peanut butter, but you think you can’t have it in our room. But it’s fine. You can. My allergy isn’t…”

When Charlie dares to peek over at Adam, he sees his eyebrows raised, as if daring him to finish his sentence with “that bad.” In retrospect, this gift might have gone over better if Charlie hadn’t had a major allergic reaction less than a week prior.

“Just please take them.”

Adam still looks suspicious of the whole gesture, but when he glances down at the candy still clutched in both hands, he smiles. “You know, I’ve been trying to get off peanut butter lately, but thanks, Charlie. Maybe Julie will want them.”

Adam’s gone down the hall to offer the candy to the girls and Charlie’s gone back to his impossible math homework before Charlie gets to wondering why Adam gave up peanut butter. He chalks it up to a new bizarre diet his father has him on.

The next day, Charlie delivers Adam a pack of Twizzlers that they share together over their Chemistry homework. The day after, he surprises him with takeout from their favorite Chinese place because they’re both sick of dining hall food. On Friday, Charlie oh-so casually slides a copy of _The Shining_ across the table. It’s second hand and well-worn. Charlie’s father’s name is scrawled in the corner of the first page.

“Charlie, I can’t keep this.”

“Sure you can,” Charlie says with a shrug. “I have my own copy and you promised me you’d read it.”

“I guess,” Adam mumbles, turning the book over to study the back cover, holding it like it’s both a treasure and a curse. He’s terrified and terrible at hiding it

But later that night, as Charlie stumbles in after a long and grueling MarioKart competition with Averman, Goldberg, and Fulton, he’s met with the sight of Adam already a quarter of the way through the book.

“There’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep tonight,” Charlie warns him, far too late.

“And it’s your fault,” Adam replies, not even looking up from the pages.

Charlie drifts to sleep that night, his back to the glow of Adam’s reading light, thinking his carefully laid plans are starting to come together.

…

“I actually give him a solid B+ for this part,” Julie says, popping one of the last peanut butter cups into her mouth.

“But Fulton could order him and Portman takeout and it wouldn’t mean Fulton’s trying to date him,” Connie argues, digging into the page of peanut butter M&Ms to reach the last handful. “Adam probably just thinks Charlie’s being nice.”

“Or apologizing in advance for some prank they want to pull,” Julie muses.

Not for the first time, Connie wants to play god and intervene. How many romances had two leads who just needed to be shoved into a locked room together so they can finally relieve their belligerent sexual tension?

But if Spazway wants to play out a Jane Austen level, pining-filled courtship routine, Connie will just have to act the part of omniscient narrator and watch as it all blows up in his face.

///

“Uh- what are you doing?”

Adam’s still standing by his locker while Charlie has already charged down the hall, arms overloaded with books.

“Walking to class?” Charlie’d shrug if his arms were not already about to fall off and his shoulders sore from carrying his own overly large backpack.

“I asked you to hold my books for a second, not take off with them.” Adam shuts his locker and makes his way over to Charlie. He looks down at his textbooks expectantly, clearly waiting for Charlie to hand them over.

“I just thought that I’d -” Charlie knew he shouldn’t have ran with this part of the Portman Method. There are very few casual excuses for carrying your best friend’s books. Except Charlie’s running out of gift ideas and Adam has started accepting them without batting an eye, so he had to up the ante. “...carry them.”

Adam stares at him like he’s suggested they blow off practice. “Why?”

“Well -”

“Please don’t tell me Averman wants to do something with them. Or Goldberg wants to replace half the pages with Playboy covers.” Adam looks genuinely pained at the idea of Goldberg subjecting him to that and it makes Charlie’s heart skip.

“No! No - nothing like that. I just thought, ya know, with the finals coming up, we don’t want to put any unnecessary pressure on your wrist.” Charlie’s intently studying his shoes. His mother always said that’s his lying tell.

“My wrist has been fine, Charlie.”

“Well, just in case.” Charlie does not give Adam the chance to argue back anymore. He starts back down the hallway, all of Adam’s textbooks still in hand.

“Charlie, seriously!”

Adam’s calling at his back until they reach History, but it quickly becomes laced with laughter and Charlie counts that as a win.

…

After three days of Charlie carrying Adam’s books for him, Connie has to start commending Charlie for his creativity.

“What was the excuse today?” Julie whispers just as American History begins.

“Coach Orion wants Charlie to work on his upper arm strength.”

Julie snorts. “What upper arm strength?”

Later in English though, Connie overhears Adam saying, “I’m serious, carry Averman’s books if you think it will help. I can’t keep showing up to classes without the right books because you handed me the wrong ones.”

The bell rings and class begins, but in a moment when the teacher’s back is to the room, Connie leans over and whispers to Charlie, “Have you ever heard of The Comedy of Errors?”

“The Comedy of what?”

Connie shakes her head, amused and amazed all at once. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

///

In honor of Adam finishing _The Shining_ , Charlie arranges a movie night. Jack Nicholson, Stanley Kubrick, the Overlook Hotel, and a guest list of two.

Charlie does everything right. He reserves one of the smaller study rooms for Sunday night. He hauls the cheap TV and VCR player from his room at home and sets it all up hours before. There’s popcorn, bags swiped from Averman’s secret stash. And most importantly, no Ducks know it’s happening.

“But we’re supposed to be watching Fulton finally beat Mario 64,” Portman whined when Charlie told them all he had dinner with his mom on Sunday.

“So I won’t be missing anything.” Charlie ducked just before Fulton’s shoe hit his head.

If Adam heard of Charlie’s shady tactics, he hadn’t said anything. He arrives at the study room right on time, looking only a little apprehensive about what they’re about to watch.

“You read the whole book.”

“Most books don’t have pictures, Charlie.”

At that, Charlie just rolls his eyes and presses play. When he turns back to the couch, he sees Adam has chosen the far end, closest to the door, not at all conducive to hand holding. Charlie idles by the TV as the opening image starts, debating just sitting on the other end of the couch and leaving it at that.

Then, he hears Portman, in the back of his head, saying, “ _You can’t go wrong, Conway._ ”

Mustering up all his Duck courage, Charlie crosses the room to shut the door and flick off the light (meriting a small groan from Adam) and refuses to second guess it as he takes the cushion right next to Adam. He stares resolutely ahead though, not wanting to see if there’s a baffled look on Adam’s face.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Charlie says, more to himself than Adam.

“Yeah,” Adam says softly, shifting a little beside him. Their shoulders brush. “It’s just a movie.”

Adam makes it to the twins asking Danny to “come and play with us” before his body is reduced to one long line of tension. His hand is twisted tight in the flannel of his pajama pants and Charlie knows this is the moment.

Slowly, Charlie reaches across the slight fraction of space left between them and rests his hand over Adam’s. With even more care, he untwists his hand from its death grip and presses their palms together. He squeezes, once, and waits with his heart in his throat.

Adam does not pull away.

In fact, when Charlie dares to sneak a glance, he finds Adam’s eyes remain transfixed on the small TV screen. Charlie wonders if Adam has even noticed the sudden hand holding, but then the score hits a sharp, dissident note and that’s enough for Adam to cut off all circulation in Charlie’s fingers.

Adam shoots an apologetic look at him and Charlie is struck by how easy this is. They’re still Conway and Banksy, just with the added bonus of hand-holding and Charlie getting to comfort Adam when he’s scared.

Charlie skates his thumb across Adam’s knuckles, marveling at how easy that is, too. When Charlie looks up, Adam’s staring and something has shifted in the air, like that electrical feeling that arises when a storm nears. Charlie finds it doesn’t scare him at all.

There’s a crash like thunder and a flood of light. It shocks Charlie backwards, nearly toppling off the couch. When he finally blinks the black spots out of his eyes, Charlie sees the silhouettes of at least three people standing in the doorway. Charlie’d bet his meager life savings there are a whole lot more than three, though.

“What the hell?”

“You’re having a movie night and didn’t invite us?”

“And you’re watching _The Shining_? Not cool, Conway!”

“It was kind of a last minute thing,” Charlie grumbles, slouching back on the couch with folded arms, very close to breaking his teeth from how hard he’s gritting them.

“But where’d the TV come from?” Dwayne asks in genuine confusion.

“My mom let me take it back after dinner,” Charlie says and, at once, his cheeks flush because Adam must know he’s lying.

The rest of their friends seem to take it at face value before saying and doing exactly what Charlie expected they would, like robots that cannot deviate from their primary directive.

“Move over, Spazway, you’re taking up the entire couch.”

“Can we rewind to when they first get to the hotel?”

“Oh, popcorn!”

“Aw, are you scared, Banksy?

Their primary directive being ruining Charlie’s best shot at kissing Adam. One day, if the universe ever chooses to shine on him, Charlie will get to needle the Ducks mercilessly for cock blocking him.

Charlie makes room on the couch, because what else can he do, and ends up with an arm rest digging into his ribs, with Averman, Goldberg, and Dwayne packed between him and Adam. Portman and Fulton take the floor and the whole bowl of popcorn. Julie pulls up one of the arm chairs sequestered in the corner and as she sits down, Charlie swears she shoots him a pitying glance.

And Charlie takes no solace in the fact that the only person also having a miserable time now is Adam. Every time he hazards a glance over at him, he sees his eyes either screwed shut or studying the floor.

Except once, their eyes lock over the heads of the other Ducks. Adam’s gaze is shrewd, as it so often is, and Charlie’s reminded that Adam has been able to read him since they were eleven years old. Charlie tries to telegraph how sorry he is, for their ruined night, for subjecting Adam to this movie in the first place, but that doesn’t seem to be what Adam’s searching for.

Adam turns away and Charlie, like Jack Nicholson, feels like he’s trapped in a maze of feelings and best laid plans he cannot escape from.

…

Connie and Guy run into Julie as they’re returning to the dorms.

“Did Fulton beat 64?” Guy asks, practically bouncing on his toes as he does.

“Everyone got bored halfway through and we ended up watching The Shining with Conway and Banks,” Julie says, even-toned, but she shoots Connie a look that tells her Charlie and Adam did not extend a voluntary invitation to that movie night.

“Damn, really?” Guy whined, as if the hand not holding Connie’s isn’t full with expensive leftovers his own parents paid for.

“Trust me,” Connie says, tugging Guy in the direction of his room. “Conway and Banks would not have wanted us there.”

///

There’s something about being down to the last card in his hand that has Charlie off-the-wall and out of his mind.

He’s getting shameless. Usually, he clapped Adam on the back after a tough practice that had them all gasping for breath as they left the ice. In the last few days, Charlie has rested his hand between Adam’s shoulder blades and kept it there as they walked into the locker room. After practice, back in their room, Adam will diligently go to work at his disk. Where Charlie used to collapse on his bed and whine about his aches and pains, Charlie has taken to hopping up to sit on Adam’s desk, ruffling Adam’s hair any chance he got.

The number of times he threw his arm around Adam’s shoulder in the halls increased exponentially. Charlie started grabbing Adam’s hand instead of his wrist to pull him along places. In one particularly risky move, Charlie smeared a bit of ice cream on Adam’s face just so he could skate his fingers across his cheek.

That none of the Ducks have noticed gives credence to Connie’s theory they all share a brain cell. Charlie’s grateful for it. All that matters is Adam notices. Sometimes, Charlie thinks he spies Adam blushing when Charlie pushes his bangs off his forehead. Once, it looked like Adam opened his mouth to say something as they walked home one night, Charlie making sure their shoulders were pressed together. He never did spit it out though and Charlie felt he was tricked by the moonlight.

That’s what drove lovers loony in Shakespearean comedies, wasn’t it? The ever changing phases of the moon. If it is, Charlie’s reached the phase that made a person batshit.

They’re in the common room and Goldberg insists Adam has to learn to play pool.

“You don’t have a pool table in your mansion, Banksy?” Russ asks.

Charlie admires how Adam has come to accept those jabs without so much as a flinch anymore. “No, my dad would probably consider it a distraction.”

“Come on, Banksy, you and Conway versus me and Dwayne,” Goldberg says as he racks up the balls.

“That’s hardly fair,” Charlie protests, not wanting to diss Adam but not wanting to lose to Goldberg either. He has an inkling this is all just a Goldberg ploy to break Charlie’s undefeated streak, but when he sees Adam, bottom lip pulled through his teeth and uneasily clutching a cue stick, Charlie feels such a strong wave of affection of wash over him that he says, “Fine. It’s not like Robertson doesn’t suck anyway.”

“Hey!”

“Excellent,” Goldberg says, tossing Charlie the remaining cue stick.

They flip a coin to see who breaks and Charlie thinks Goldberg might have lied about it coming up tails, but he doesn’t care enough to argue. Goldberg breaks and pockets two before Charlie and Adam are up. “You try first,” Charlie tells Adam, shooting a glare at Goldberg when he starts chuckling.

It becomes clear immediately that Adam is adorably but utterly terrible at pool. He has no idea how to stand or hold the pool cue. His first stab at it, the cue’s point soars right past the cue ball. “That counts!” Dwayne claims.

“No, it doesn’t.” Charlie rounds the table and stands beside Adam, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No one’s good at this when they first try. Especially not Goldberg.”

“Fuck you too, Conway.”

“Just try again.”

Adam manages to make contact with the cue ball on the next try. It just rolls about three inches without coming into contact with any other balls. What makes Charlie feel better is Dwayne going up next and, with all the confidence of his great state of Texas, sinking the cue ball into a pocket.

It’s in the space between Charlie’s own turn and Goldberg’s that Charlie gets a truly dangerous idea. Going through with it would be unbelievably reckless and certifiably insane. There must be a full moon out tonight.

As Adam cautiously approaches the table again to take his turn, Charlie discards his own cue stick and steps behind Adam, putting his hand over Adam’s. “Okay, just hold your fingers like this and try not move them….” When he’s holding the point correctly, Charlie positions his elbow to get the cue at the right angle. Charlie’s chest is a hair’s width away from Adam’s back, so he takes a slight step backwards before saying, “Now, just lean in and try to shoot.”

“Are you _Ghost_ -ing Adam, but with pool, Conway?” Russ calls out.

Adam straightens abruptly, knocking Charlie backwards, the pool cue coming dangerously close to colliding with his eye.

“Does that make Adam Patrick Swayze?” Averman posits, seemingly oblivious to Adam’s sudden change in demeanor.

“Other way around, Adam’s Demi Moore,” Guy says from his spot on the couch.

“Big fan of _Ghost_ are you, Germaine?” Russ asks with a smirk.

“I gotta go,” Adam says, though not loud enough for anyone but Charlie to catch. He tosses his pool cue to the side and makes a beeline for the door.

“Where are you going?” Charlie calls after him, already ditching his own cue.

At the same time, Dwayne protests, “But we just started this game.”

“Looks like Banksy doesn’t like playing games when he knows he can’t win,” Goldberg says.

“Not funny,” Charlie snaps. But when he turns back to the door, it’s slowly sinking closed. Adam’s gone.

…

“Think we’ll get a break from the video games tonight?” Julie asks. In one hand, she’s carrying a bag of the promised snacks she and Connie picked up.

“Never,” Connie replies.

At that same moment, as Julie and Connie turn a corner, Adam turns the corner, too, barreling straight through them. For a brief second, he swings back around, opening his mouth like in the start of an apology, when a second voice sends him charging back down the hall again.

“Adam, wait up!” Charlie races past them as if they were phantoms.

“It’s nothing, Charlie. You can go finish your game,” Adam says, swiftly turning a second corner and disappearing from view.

“No, I -” Whatever Charlie says, it’s lost to distance.

Julie looks to Connie, her eyes wide. “What was that about?”

They don’t find out until they reach the common room, where the deposited snacks are met with a cheer and Connie uses the distraction to ask Guy, “What’s gotten into Charlie and Adam?”

Guy shrugs, a twizzler half hanging out of his mouth. “Russ made some Ghost joke because of how Conway was teaching Banks to play pool and then they both took off.”

“Conway just didn’t want me to finally crush him,” Goldberg says.

As always, Connie and Julie are on the exact same frustrated wavelength as Julie rolls her eyes and says, “Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly it.”

Charlie never returns to finish the game and Connie wonders if this is at last the tipping point.

The morning dawns bringing with it storm clouds and Connie arrives at breakfast to see Adam sitting alone, head down, Charlie nowhere to be seen. Something did tip, Connie can feel it. It just did not tip in the right direction.

///

These days, Adam is everywhere that Charlie isn’t.

Charlie had long grown used to their schedules being in sync. They both woke up at seven each morning, Adam to prepare diligently for the day and Charlie to race through the homework he had put off the night before. They ate breakfast together, attended most classes together, lunch, dinner, team practice, homework sessions, all together. Sure, Charlie had most of the other Ducks with him, too, but it was different with Adam. They walked side by side together, sat together, had a hundred inane conversations together over twelve hours.

By setting his own alarm to six thirty instead of seven, Adam manages to avoid breakfast with Charlie completely. He darts out of class before Charlie even has his books together. On the walks to practice, Adam trails after Dwayne or Russ instead of being shoulder to shoulder with him.

It stings, and the salt in the wound is not knowing what he did wrong. The only person who knew the answer to that will not let Charlie within ten feet of him.

The team picks up on it, quick. As a well oiled machine on the ice, it becomes obvious when wires have gotten crossed.

“What, did you not get your beauty sleep last night, Conway?” Russ calls from the bench after Charlie doesn’t come close to catching Guy before he scores.

“That’s enough, Taylor,” Orion says, but Charlie can see how tense he is, practically hear his thoughts. They’re a week away from the final and this is the time the team chooses to break down.

Not helping is Adam taking every opportunity to pass to someone who is not Charlie. Adam’s too much of a professional to shut Charlie out completely, but in a choice between another Duck and Charlie, he chooses another teammate every time.

When Orion finally tells them to hit the showers, morale is at an all time low.

Orion holds Charlie back and the pressure building up in Charlie’s chest all practice becomes suffocating. “I thought I taught you all better than to bring your personal lives onto the ice.”

The bitter part of Charlie, the part that can’t stand disappointing his coach, wants to ask why Adam won’t be receiving this lecture.

“Whatever’s going on, either fix it or keep it on the bench. Understood?”

Charlie nods without having any idea of how he’d fix it all. Adam’s fled the locker room by the time he gets there and he’ll be feigning sleep by the time Charlie drags himself back to their room. The last person left is Connie, her hair dripping wet and her bag slung over her shoulder. She’s been waiting for him.

“Charlie, if you just -”

“I’m not in the mood, Connie.” Charlie brushes past her, but still feels the heat of her steely gaze on his back.

“Fine,” Connie says and Charlie hears her footsteps heading toward the door. “We’re going to do this my way then.”

“What are you -” But Connie’s gone. In the face of an empty locker room, Charlie sinks down to the ground, pulling his knees close to his chest.

Fix it or leave it on the bench.

Charlie would rather he had never broken it to begin with.

…

“Okay, you’re asking Adam for a study session tomorrow afternoon,” Connie says as soon as she’s slammed the door shut.

“Why?” Julie asks, blinking furiously. She’s already curled up in bed and looks less than thrilled at the sudden fluorescent light and the clamor of Connie throwing her hockey equipment to the ground.

“Because we’re going to make those stupid boys have a face-to-face conversation even if it kills us.”

“If it kills _us_?”

///

The first face Charlie sees upon entering the study room is Adam’s and he at once feels like the biggest idiot in the world. In what universe does Connie Moreau need Charlie’s help with an English assignment.

Charlie has to watch Adam tense immediately as soon as they make eye contact. The miserable feeling Charlie has been carrying around with him for days like an insidious parasite grows only larger. He takes a faltering step back. Adam would probably prefer he be on the opposite side of the planet, but maybe he’d settle for the opposite side of campus. Or at the very least, the opposite side of this doorway.

He can’t bring himself to go, not when this might be the first time Adam has to speak more than three words to him in a week.

“Oh, cool, are you guys working on the English essay, too?” Connie asks, dumping her books and bag in the space next to Julie.

“Yeah, we were about to start,” Julie says, though Charlie sees their American History textbook already open in front of her. “Are you going to sit, Conway?”

In or out. It’s ultimately Charlie’s decision. If his trials in love have taught him anything, it’s how he always manages to make the wrong one.

Charlie slides into the empty seat next to Adam and begins to organize his books, careful to keep far away from Adam’s space. That hardly seems to make a difference. Charlie felt him tense the moment he sat down. That’s why, though it hurts like being thrown full-body into the boards, Charlie is not surprised when Adam shoots up.

“I -” For a moment, Adam freezes, staring at the study table like it can transport him to another universe, one where Charlie Conway never existed. “If we’re going to do our English essays, I need to go get my book.”

“No, wait, why don’t we just…” In an echo of the pool night, Adam’s gone like vapor before any of them can pin him down. “...share,” Julie finishes lamely to an empty doorway.

Charlie sighs and glances down at Adam’s history homework, still spread out across the table, material he’ll have to gather up and bring back to their room later because Adam will not be coming back. When he looks up again, he’s met with the hard gaze of Connie. “What are you waiting for?”

“What?”

“Coach Orion told you to fix it, right?” Julie says, tilting her chin toward the door. “Go fix it.”

“You can’t fix something when you don’t know what’s wrong,” Charlie argues.

Connie mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘one brain cell’ before focusing on Charlie again. “Have you asked him what’s wrong?”

“He hasn’t -”

“You know where he is right now!” Julie says, as if hearing Charlie’s thoughts before he can voice them. “Go and make him talk to you. Have a real adult conversation.”

“You’re making it out to be way easier than it is.”

“Maybe that’s because it is easy,” Connie says, though there’s sympathy in her eyes now. Charlie’s reminded of Portman, of the conversation that started him down this road.

Nothing’s ever that complicated.

Charlie still thinks they’re all wrong and could stand to skate a mile in his skates, but he gets up with a sigh and starts the short walk back to his room, crossing his fingers within his stuffed pockets that Adam did go running home. 

The answer turns out to be yes when Charlie swings up the door to their room and gives Adam a near heart attack in the process.

“Jesus, Charlie!”

For a moment, everything feels normal. Charlie even has to fight off a smile at how cute Adam looks clutching at his chest. Then Adam tenses and ducks his head, avoiding Charlie’s eyes completely. He starts crossing the short distance from their beds to his desk, their English assignment book at the top of a neatly stacked pile.

“What’s wrong?” Charlie snatches the book Adam was going for, forcing Adam to look at him.

With a glare, Adam reaches to grab the book. Not fast enough as Charlie takes a step back and Adam groans in frustration. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just -”

Charlie scoffs. “Bullshit. Clearly something is wrong.”

Adam glares and makes another go for his book. When Charlie holds it above both of their heads, Adam snaps, “Come on, let’s just get back to the study room and finish our homework.”

Charlie shakes his head, keeping the book aloft. “No, I’m sick of this. You haven’t spoken to me in a week. I got a disappointed dad talk from Orion yesterday, which fucking sucked. Julie and Connie are arranging study dates just to get us in a room together. Oh yeah, and you haven’t spoken to me in a week! We’re not leaving here, not until you tell me -”

“You!” Adam shouts, startling Charlie into dropping the book. It clatters to the floor between them. “You’re what’s wrong! You’ve been driving me crazy for weeks now.”

“ _I’ve_ been driving _you_ crazy?” Charlie asks, though he’s not sure Adam heard him, too busy pacing the short length of their room and attempting to pull all his hair out.

“Yes, you! The weird fancy dinner, and the candy, and the carrying my books, and the - the - constant touching, and -” Adam halts abruptly, back at the desks where he started, looking at Charlie with eyes blown wide. “Are you -...are we dating?”

Just like that, the floor drops out from under Charlie. 

His blood pounding in his ears and, suddenly unsure of whether or not Adam will hit him, Charlie takes a huge step backwards, his legs hitting his desk with a dull thump. Though his mouth feels like sandpaper, Charlie manages to say softly, “Surprise?”

Adam makes a strangled sound and Charlie, shutting his eyes, prepares for the hit, just hoping he’ll spare his nose. “You make everything impossible, do you know that?”

Charlie’s eyes fly open, as does his mouth, ready to blurt out a poor defense for himself, except he finds it’s hard to talk when Adam’s mouth is on his.

It’s a horrible first kiss. Half open, half closed. Adam catching him in the corner of his mouth. All clacks and smacks. It’s a kiss he’d expect to share in the pee-wees and somehow, even as a learned sophomore in high school, it’s everything Charlie’s ever wanted. Because it’s Adam.

Charlie pulls away, ever so slightly, so he can slide his hands over Adam’s cheeks, fingertips brushing through strands of his hair, and kiss him again. It’s not perfect, hardly the stuff of a romance, but their lips lock together this time, like the right pieces of the machine finally aligning, and everything’s fixed.

He’s the first to come up for air, eyes fluttering open to find Adam staring at him, awed. Charlie feels he has to say something, that there’s still so much he has to answer for. “Adam, listen -”

“We don’t have to talk right now,” Adam says, breathless, and Charlie wasn’t sure he loved him weeks and weeks ago, he’d know he loves him now.

“Good,” Charlie says, because he has no real interest in talking, not when he can tug Adam by the front of his stupid, sensible collared shirt and pull him towards one of their convenient beds.

An indeterminate and euphoric amount of time later, Adam props himself up on one elbow and stares down at Charlie, a near disbelieving expression on his face. “You really couldn’t just tell me?”

Charlie snorts. “You weren’t exactly rushing to tell me, either.”

The tips of Adam’s ears turn an endearing shade of pink. “It’s different,” he mutters, casting his eyes away. “You had dated girls before. I didn’t think -...I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, too,” Charlie says, reaching up to brush Adam’s bangs away from his eyes, successfully drawing his attention back. God, Charlie’s on the path to becoming a monster, what with the possessive twinge in his chest at the thought of anyone else ever having Adam’s attention like this. “So I’d call my plan a rousing success.”

In a stellar impression of Julie, Adam rolls his eyes. “I could have done without the massive allergic reaction.”

“Their menu should have been English!”

“You should have told the server you have a nut allergy,” Adam says with the same amount of exasperation he had mustered at the hospital.

“Well,” Charlie says, snatching Adam’s hand to twine their fingers together. “You can tell them next time.”

Staring down at their intertwined hands, biting back a smile, Adam echoes, “Next time.”

…

Connie, arms loaded with a metric ton of textbooks, shuts her locker and sees Julie dashing toward her. “They did it,” she says breathlessly within the moment she’s in earshot of Connie.

Seconds later, over Julie’s shoulder, Connie catches sight of Charlie and Banks coming down the stairs. For anyone giving them a passing glance, nothing would seem to have changed. Charlie, clad as always in his old Ducks jersey, has his usual happy-go-lucky grin on his face, taking animatedly about something like hockey scores, or hockey trades, or hockey. Adam, as fresh-pressed as ever in a button-down and sweater, listens with a concentrating frown. It’s just plain old Adam and Charlie.

Charlie’s grin goes wider though when he surprises a laugh out of Adam and when the laughter dies down, Adam looks over at Charlie like he’s the only person in the hallway, the only person in the whole world. Charlie knocks their shoulders together and a week ago they would have drifted apart. Today, their shoulders stay brushed together, as if their own private gravity pulls them together. When they pass Connie and Julie, both staring at them, neither acknowledge the girls’ existences, caught up in their own universe.

Once they’re out of earshot, Connie looks up at the ceiling and calls, “Hallelujah.”

“Do you think they’re going to tell everyone?” Julie asks.

“I doubt it.” If Connie were given the option to rewrite time and hide her relationship with Guy from the team, she’d consider it. There are some things you don’t want belonging to all the Ducks. And though she loves all the Ducks, enough to see the best in them, sometimes it’s hard to guess how someone will react to anything that’s not a boy and a girl and happily ever after.

Julie gives an accepting shrug and says, “One day, then.”

And on that day, Connie will be the first to say I knew it, I told you so, and here’s all the ways you could have done it better. Not that the last part will ever really matter. Taking a road less travelled by can still be rewarding if it ends at the same happy destination.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) These movies have overtaken my life and I may never get it back, so let me know if there are any other stories you’d like to see in this universe!
> 
> 2) And thank you for reading! Stay safe, stay social distancing, and stay reading AO3.


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